


And Now I Am a Marvel With Ten Thousand Arms

by WonderWafles



Category: Destiny (Video Game)
Genre: Draksis is only sort of there, Gen
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-02-10
Updated: 2017-02-10
Packaged: 2018-09-23 07:09:12
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,826
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9645725
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/WonderWafles/pseuds/WonderWafles
Summary: Taniks the Scarred sought to be free from all bonds.





	

**Author's Note:**

> I've posted this in other places before, but I think it should finally come to AO3, so here we go!

Taniks was born in darkness.

Most Eliksni were; he did not resent this. His mother was a dreg when she had him, and she too was used to hiding.

“Everything,” she told him when he was young, “is bigger than us, and hates us. We have no patronage except our Kells, who our not our friends, and our Servitors. If you want to survive, you must become big enough to fight back.”

That advice was the second to last thing she ever gave him, except for his name. Taniks. It meant something on the old world, but nobody could remember it now. He wondered if she knew, but he never asked. This too he did not resent. His mother was typical for a Fallen parent, except for the House Judgment whelps who softened their children with gifts and stories.

She told him also of their history as a people, although he did not consider this a gift. They had been great once, she said. A race of giants, under the protection of the Great Machine, who gave them everything they needed.

And then the Whirlwind came, and the Maw, and the dark Hive god whose fists were full of black fire that made Eliksni into things they were not. They had no choice but to flee, on Ketches that were once made to spread their people through the stars.

They had learned, then; there was no such thing as a gift freely given.

Now they were a part of the House of Winter, one of the few houses strong enough to survive the deep black between stars. They crouched on a world not their own, while the races of the Dark crusaded against the undying warriors that defended the Great Machine. And they survived, as they always did.

Then his mother died. On Venus, he was told later, to one of the Guardians. He was called before the Kell not long after. It was here, while the Kell’s Guard severed his lower two arms and Draksis watched with mild interest, that Taniks realized that this was his mother’s second and final gift to him.

The problem was not that he was alone. It was that he wasn’t.

He looked at the Kell with hatred in his eyes as he got on one knee. I am going to be free, he thought. There will come a day when I will not bow to you, or to anyone else, ever again.

Draksis’ expression shifted, just barely. “Give him the arc blades,” his mighty voice rumbled across the throne room. Taniks felt the weapons being pressed into his remaining two hands.

As he was escorted out, Taniks repeated his promise to himself, the second time of many. Never again.  
…

The Vex fell upon their forces with all the fury of the hurricanes that battered the Shattered Coast. Machines more foul than the ones he worshipped with his fellows, Taniks could only comprehend hate in their red glowing eye and burning core.

Their captain roared a battle cry and he, along with his fellow dregs, charged at the enemy. The Vex did not flee, but stared at them with a fixed kind of unconcern before raising their weapons and firing.

Two of Taniks’ fellow Dregs fell before the twang of the Vandal’s rifles echoed behind him. Three of the Vex crumpled to the ground before being meticulously replaced by the ones that stood behind them. They fired in exactly the same pattern as their fellows.

Taniks dove behind a rock as he heard a Vandal’s death screech. The Vex moved past him and toward the company, apparently heedless of the Dreg horde that fell upon them and started to maul them with their blades.

Taniks clenched his two hands around the hilts of his own weapons. His docking caps itched, but then, they always did.

He was going to die. He would die a slave. Like all the others. Like his mother. Anger surged through him.

It wasn’t fair! It wasn’t! Why did he exist, if only to die? To be padding for some captain or Vandal who would bring home the glory?

If only he were stronger. If only he were more capable.

Another roar from his captain. And then Taniks saw it.

The Vex gate. Pulsing with power Taniks did not know, could not conceive of (yet, he thought). No Vex moved from it yet, but soon they would.

Without thinking twice, he ran for it.

The Vex did not notice him. They were far more concerned with the Fallen behind him. He thought he heard his captain roar, and wondered if she’d seen him.

The area around the gate was empty. Not even a Hobgoblin guarded it. Taniks dove for the glowing energy field and stabbed his blades into it.

It flickered, but did not fail. Taniks could vaguely comprehend pain as his body came into contact with it, and hated himself for the weakness. Again, he drove them in. It flickered again. Once more.

With the last stab, the field flickered and faded. Taniks felt himself fall onto his knees (so much like bowing) and panted in exhaustion.

The sound of a Vex rifle being discharged made him turn around, but it was only the sound of his squad fighting. He was in no hurry to return, but he knew he must. He took his time.

At last, when he got back, the entire Vex force lay in crumpled, but whole, bits of metal strewn about the ground. Taniks marveled at it, that even in defeat, Vex metal would last forever.

For a second, Taniks thought that his entire squad had been destroyed, but the sound of heavy footfalls behind him dispelled that notion.

“You,” his captain growled at him.

Taniks turned. She was damaged from the fight, but it was nothing that ether couldn’t fix. Except for one eye that had a heavy slash across it; that would stay forever.

He stared at her, and got onto one knee. “My captain,” he said.

She stared at him in turn. “You destroyed the portal,” she said.

“Yes.”

A moment of silence. And then, “You did well,” she rumbled. “I will report this in my story.”

“Thank you,” Taniks said.

A roaring sound. The Skiff had returned to collect them.

Before he and the captain boarded it, Taniks made sure to scoop up one of the Vex remains. The captain was amused, but said nothing.

On their way back to the Wintership, Taniks stared at it, and thought, _the Vex must not bow to anything._

He would remember this.

…

Taniks knelt before Draksis once again, this time for a different purpose. True to his captain’s word, he was being promoted.

The throne was deathly silent as Taniks’ docking caps were removed. A silent rush of noise, and then it was over- but the Kell’s Guard made a bigger deal out of it than it needed to be.

At last, Taniks was allowed to stand. Draksis watched him with interest as his arc blades were exchanged for a Wire Rifle.

“Welcome, Vandal,” he rumbled, and the rest of the room did the same. Taniks bowed to them again, and before he left to allow his arms to regrow, he thought that this was not freedom, not really.

Still. It felt good to move his arms again.

…

Earth, this time. Old Russia, as the Guardians called it.

He was under a new captain this time. He didn’t know what happened to the last one, but he had his suspicions.

Earth wasn’t as bad as Venus to be certain. They had to watch out for the Devils, but for the most part they kept to themselves, as did the Hive who burrowed into the ground to achieve some secret purpose.

Taniks wondered how far he would have to go to see the Great Machine from here, if he were allowed.

“Spread out,” came his captain’s voice. “Anything of value, you will bring to me. We will meet again here when the sun sets.”

Taniks ushered his dregs in the opposite direction of the other groups, as was protocol. He felt the captain’s burning eyes on him as he did so, but he ignored them.

“He is measuring your weakness,” hissed one of the dregs, a short female named Amakis. “Will he find any?”

“I could have you docked of your upper arms, too,” Taniks responded lazily. “It would not be hard.”

She hissed again and went with her companion to search one of the fallen Human craft for treasure. There was the implicit acknowledgement that they would come out with something for him, or they would not return at all.

Taniks sat near enough the craft to watch the dregs but far enough that their piddling voices could not be heard. He stared at the sky, where the sun hung lowly to the west.

It was weakness, he despised himself for it, but he wondered what his mother would think of him. Probably nothing, but it was interesting to wonder.

He removed the piece of Vex metal from his pocket and hefted it up and down, up and down. Not for the first time, he wondered what it was made of.

He thought about what they would do if they ever found the Great Machine. Technically speaking, they were not supposed to think about this. It was for the Archons to plan the Great Machine’s return.

Still. Would they take it from here, to a new world, free of the enemies that pursued them, with the Machine’s limitless Light to keep others from following? Would they reclaim what they had before the Whirlwind, as if anyone could remember such a time?  
He imagined the great Houses restored to their former glory, banners waving at the front of Ketches that forged an empire even the Cabal could only dream of.

No. That left a bad taste in his mouth.

He imagined his enemies crushed before him, the Great Machine granting him ether enough to tower over the walls of the Last City, his arms mighty enough to reach over them and scoop up the screaming humans and crush their frail bodies in his grip.

Imagined being a god.

Imagined being totally, utterly free.

One of the dregs attempted to run away. Idly, Taniks charged his rifle and put a round into his head. His pitiable ether escaped into the air. Pathetically, Amakis attempted to drink of it. He let her have that indulgence.

Finally, she returned, arms heavy with loot and stories. “More for you,” he said cheerfully to her. She grunted at him, but did not say another word as she bore the load back where their squad would be meeting up.

Taniks wondered if this was what strength was. He hoped so.

…

Panic. Pain. Fear. A new Whirlwind, this time come to rip the sky away from Taniks’ world alone.

Earth’s Moon, this time, where the House of Exile crouched and scavenged what they could. They were here to spy on them, to return to Draksis with a story that could help them break Exile and claim the Moon for themselves.

Then the Hive came.

Tombships, screaming out of the sky, ripping the air around them such that Taniks thought he could hear the world itself shudder. The same captain, who marshaled his troops valiantly, but it wasn’t enough. Thrall, rushing them with the fury of an avalanche, and behind them the Knights that wielded swords that sparked with a power that could not be seen.

Taniks scrambled to higher ground behind the dregs, charging his Wire Rifle as quickly as he could, trying to pick off the Knights before they reached them.

It wasn’t enough. Perhaps it could have been if the Vandals had coordinated their fire, and the dregs had not tried to show each other up even as their ether-filled throats were ripped out. The Hive swarmed over them, and Taniks ran.

It had been awhile since he had felt fear, but it came now, coarse and hot and thick and running through his veins like blood through humans. He did not look back, just ran and ran as far as he could.

Finally, he crouched under a ruined piece of a human ship. The Hive screeched in the distance, but he could not see them, which was worth something.

He waited. His heart pumped inside his chest every time he heard something move, and he hated, hated it. This was like a metaphor for his existence. Always hiding, never strong enough, and he never would be.

He survived, for now, but for how long? Was he doomed to meet his fate somewhere in this accursed system like his mother?

But he knew now not to ask the universe. The universe didn’t care. It would grind him underfoot without even knowing he was there.

Unless. Unless, unless, unless, he was strong enough to hit back, to beat the world until it changed. But he wasn’t.

He could be.

He stood from his hiding spot, gripped the Wire Rifle in his hands, and ventured back to the battlefield.

…

As it turned out, there wasn’t much battle left.

A few Thrall milled about, eating from the corpses of the fallen dregs and Vandals. He picked them off, one by one, and when they rushed him he pulled out his knife and finished them off.

There was only one living thing left in the crater. The captain.

He was broken. Taniks could tell. There was nothing House Winter could do for him now, even if they wanted to.

He looked up. “You,” he growled at the Vandal.

Taniks nodded.

“You betrayed us,” he growled, flipping himself onto his stomach so that his remaining arms could do what his ruined legs could not.

Taniks nodded.

To his amazement, the captain got up. Whether it was from adrenaline or sheer, calculated will Taniks could not tell, but he did it. He even charged a few paces before collapsing again, moaning in agony.

Taniks walked up. The captain stared. There was hardly even hatred left in his eyes. Just death, making preparations.

“If I had my way,” the captain panted, “your head would be cut off and fixed to the throne. Your arms would be used to clean the halls. Your eyes would be grafted onto another traitor in place of his own. Your-”

Taniks stepped on his neck, gently. The captain tensed. “Wait,” he said. Taniks waited.

“Draksis is dead.”

Taniks looked down. “Oh?” he said.

“Killed by a Guardian.”

Taniks considered this. Draksis. He supposed he should have hated him, rejoiced at this news, but now, here, he could only summon a faint interest in his demise.

“Thank you,” he said, meaningfully, but drove his foot down as hard as he could.

Later, he found the skiff, and rested against it. Taniks couldn’t be sure if the captain was telling the truth, but something told him he was.

Which meant the Wintership was in chaos. If he returned now, he stood a real chance at staking his own claim on the Kellship. He had drunk the captain’s ether supply and felt larger, stronger. He had survived long enough to be remembered by most of the House, and he could be assured that he would have a sizeable following.

But.

If he became Kell, what next? He supposed he would join the fight to take the Great Machine in earnest. He would tower over the others, as he dreamed of. He would be strong. He would be fearless.

Not free. He would bow to the Servitor, rely on it to keep him alive, and more importantly, he would bow to Great Machine, beg for it to take them back.

The Great Machine was the strongest chain of all, and it bound his people here, to this evil star where alien gods slumbered and not even death was assured. He had heard talk, too, from dregs who kept their ear to the ground more than most, of the Hive preparing a dark ritual. Crota slumbered, and there were whispers of his father, who sought to Take the Great Machine and swallow it like a pure sweet rind.

Slowly, unused to his changing body, he stood up, and looked once again at the Vex metal. He would have to become stronger. Stronger than a Kell, stronger perhaps than even the Great Machine. The chains which bound him could not be broken by less.

Looking at the metal now, he thought he knew how.

He pocketed it again, walked for the hills. There was Ketch here somewhere, he knew. He would have it.

But first, there was one chain he needed to break.

He gathered the metal around him, in pleasingly good condition.

If he were to fight here, finally alone, he would need to be more than he was.

His knife bit into the flesh of his arm, and Taniks the Scarred smiled.


End file.
